Plunge
by randomfluff
Summary: Wet, miserable and really in need of a good nap, Alex stumbles into an old friend in the city of canals. Only, as far as he knew, dead men generally didn't just stroll around without a care in the world. Can't a teenage spy ever catch a break?


**A/N:** And now for the requisite 'Yassen is alive' fic! I'm a whimsical writer so I basically had no idea where I wanted to go with this fic when I started writing it but that's the way I do things. Sorry if it results in a choppy style.

Also, regarding the setting for this fic… I've only been to Venice twice so even with the bit of googling I did for the fic there will probably be glaring errors and stuff. Try not to mind 'em, okay.

Also, this is obviously AU and doesn't take Scorpia rising into account in any way (mainly because it was written way before it was published).

Final also… Is Yassen hard to write or what? Ugh.

**Warnings**: bad spelling/grammar, OOC, AU

**Characters**: Alex, Yassen

**Word count**: 10, 970

**Disclaimer**: don't own

**Summary**: Wet, miserable and really in need of a good nap, Alex stumbles into an old friend in the city of canals. Only, as far as he knew, dead men generally didn't just stroll around without a care in the world. Can't a teenage spy ever catch a break?

- **Plunge** -

Crapcrapcrapcrap_crap_

While most of Alex's brain was concentrated on keeping his legs moving and lungs working and looking for possible hiding places he still had a bit left over to curse his current situation. Not that it was anything new, no, but it still didn't mean he actually liked situations like these. No. He could definitely live without having to run from some gun toting minions while injured and tired and fighting the remnants of some drug he'd been given earlier.

He'd used or lost all his gadgets already apart from the earring that would provide a momentary distraction in the way of smoke but he didn't dare use it until he had no other choices. Everyone else might've been convinced he had the luck of the devil but he wasn't willing to bet on that. Besides, all it usually did was to ensure that he got out of sticky situations alive. It sounded good until you considered just how badly hurt you could be while still counted as 'alive'. Alex didn't really enjoy pain so he'd rather avoid relying on something as useless as luck.

The streets of Venice formed one giant, dark maze which worked both for and against him. On one hand, it was easier for him to lose his pursuers in the labyrinthine mess of alleys and waterways, but on the other hand it meant that he had no idea where he was. And, of course, there was the bonus that this was Venice which meant he was practically traipsing all over Scorpia's backyard. Just because the organization was still weakened and had a deal with MI6 to not kill him didn't mean that _accidents_ couldn't happen. Especially because he'd been the one to cripple the organization in the first place.

So things weren't looking too positive for the sixteen-year-old superspy.

Something dark and sticky dripped down his forehead and into his eye, blinding it for a moment. He couldn't remember when he'd gotten the head wound but it was still bleeding quite a bit and being an all around nuisance. At the moment it was making him half blind which meant his depth perception was shot to hell which led to him mistaking the distance between the end of the road and the stairs on the other side of the narrow canal.

He fell into the stagnant water with a splash that sounded unnaturally loud in the silence and Alex knew he'd messed up. The men hadn't been close enough to see him because he'd rounded a corner to get to the dead end but the noise was bound to tell them where he was. He had, at best, seconds to get out of the water and keep running. There was no way he'd make it and the wet clothes would make running more difficult than it had been before. The only good thing was that the cool water had managed to clear his head just a little more.

Fortunately for him, that little was enough to save him. He took a deep breath and dived.

Three men rounded the corner that led to the dead end less than a minute after Alex had fallen into the water. The expanding rings were still visible but there was no sign of the boy. It didn't take long for them to decide that the only way the boy could've gone was the alley opposite the one they were standing in now.

"You go," one of the men said. "There's a chance he's just hiding underwater. He has to surface sometime if that's the case. I'll stay here and wait for ten minutes."

Ten minutes passed by and nothing broke the surface of the water. The remaining man cursed and took out his mobile. A short conversation later he turned around and left the canal. In the shadow of a tiny bridge not twenty meters from where he'd fallen in, Alex relaxed just a fraction. He'd survived again. Now he'd just have to figure out where he was and return to the hotel. He knew he was somewhere in the Cannaregio district but had no idea of his exact location. The hotel was in the San Polo district which meant going south was his best bet since he didn't think he was near the railway station. Sooner or later he'd be bound to hit the Grand Canal or one of the landmarks or at least a sign pointing towards one of them.

And…

He chocked a little and realized that the adrenaline was fading from his system. But he couldn't break down just yet. The men were probably still after him and his partner was dead which meant he was the only one with the information the MI6 had sent them to get in the first place. So no matter how much he wanted to just crawl somewhere and sleep he couldn't do it. Not yet.

Managing to convince himself that it would be better to keep going, he grabbed the edge of the bridge and pulled himself out of the water. One of his fingers was probably broken and he avoided using it but it was still painful as hell. It was winter and he was freezing in his soaking wet clothes. He tried to avoid thinking about the fact that even before taking a dip in the canal parts of his shirt had been wet. It would've almost been better if all the blood had been his.

"Don't think about it," he whispered to himself just managing to swallow the hysterical giggle that was threatening to burst out of his mouth.

It wasn't a good sign but it gave him strength to stand up, even if he needed the wall to make sure he wouldn't fall back into the smelly water. He took a deep gulp of air and tried to determine which way was South. Ian had taught him how to tell the direction by using the sun and the stars but it was no help to him now when it was night and the sky was cloudy. He'd have to guess.

The safest bet would be to go back the way he'd come from but that didn't necessarily mean anything. He'd lost his way long before he'd fallen into the canal and his efforts to lose the men who'd been after him. Hopefully he'd see one of the signs that pointed towards the big tourist attractions like Ponte Rialto but he was in a mostly residential area so he wasn't expecting much. Finally deciding that going in the general direction where he'd come from was probably his best bet he set off.

There were few people out this late at night but Alex did his best to avoid them. In his wet clothes and looking as miserable as he probably did, would attract unwanted attention. While he was probably in need of medical attention he couldn't get that before he'd unloaded all the information he had to his employers. There was a first aid kit in the hotel that he'd brought with him because he'd learned how useful it could be. It'd be enough for now and it contained pain medication which he was really looking forward to at the moment. That and a hot shower. He was shivering badly now and wishing he hadn't had to take a dip in the water to escape his pursuers. As it was, he'd have to be careful to disinfect any wound he had for fear of infection from the rather dirty water.

After wandering around aimlessly for close to forever (probably close to twenty minutes) he could've cried from happiness when he finally saw something he recognized. He'd finally reached the Northern side of the Grand Canal and knew where he was. Now all he'd have to do was find the nearest bridge over the canal and then find the hotel in the San Polo district. He just hoped that the bad guys weren't smart enough to put guards over the bridges because he'd really hate it if he had to swim over. Even at this time of night there was bound to be someone who'd see him dive in and alert the authorities. Not that he'd be able to make the short distance, he thought glumly. His fingers were numb from the cold which was a bit of a blessing since his probably broken finger had been throbbing painfully before he'd lost feeling. Logically, he knew it wasn't exactly a good thing but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

He could either go over Ponte Rialto or Ponte degli Schlzi and he tried to remember which one was closer to his current location. Deciding that it probably wasn't Rialto he started walking towards the other bridge, following the canal as closely as possible so that he wouldn't get lost again. The few people he saw on his way there weren't very interested in looking at him and he managed to walk towards the bridge undisturbed. He stopped near it making sure he was hidden in the shadows and tried to see if the bridge was being monitored somehow.

He saw nothing suspicious but that didn't necessarily mean anything. But… He didn't really have a lot of choices, did he? He started walking briskly towards the bridge because looking like he was trying to hide would've just made people suspicious. It was one of the things Ian had taught him years ago.

'_Always look like you have every right to be wherever you are,'_ Ian had said to a ten-year-old Alex_. 'If they challenge your right to be there challenge them back and never ever appear nervous or guilty unless you're playing down your age. It is generally useful if you carry around some sort of papers if the setting is right.'_

'_Good old Ian,'_ Alex thought just a bit bitterly.

But even though he could blame the man for pushing him into this world of spies and lies and danger, he still loved him. It'd been close to two years now, since the funeral. He'd have to go visit the grave when he got back, he thought absentmindedly. He realized he was distracting himself but allowed it because it kept away the edge of the panic that was pressing him at the back of his mind.

The bridge was empty when he crossed it but that didn't make him feel particularly safe. He'd feel a million times better when he'd reach the hotel and take a long hot shower and patch himself up. With any luck he'd be flying home the next day or soon after that.

Luck… Hah!

For all the people said about him having the 'luck of the devil' he sure got into a lot of trouble before it kicked in at the last possible second. It was also a bit insulting to call his continual survival mere 'luck' when he had to work to get out of absolutely ridiculous situations alive. '_You make your own luck_,' he remembered hearing or reading that somewhere but couldn't remember where, maybe a fortune cookie or something. Still, he'd found it to be very true most of the time no matter what its origins were.

He was distracting himself again, he realized, and knew it was dangerous. He was freezing and he was quickly running out of whatever reserve energy he still had. The dip into the water might have temporarily cleared his head but now it was collecting its toll. His wet clothes felt like they weighed a ton, and his mind was getting increasingly fuzzy, like someone had stuffed his head full of cotton. Everywhere ached and was numb at the same time which seemed impossible. The only good thing about his situation was that he knew where he was and it'd only take him about twenty minutes to make it to the hotel.

The empty streets were rather eerie and quiet so late at night it was almost morning. He'd lost his watch ages ago but he estimated that it was maybe somewhere between 3 to 4am. He tried to remember when he'd last slept. Being unconscious just wasn't the same thing, really, and he wanted to just fall into his bed and sleep for a week.

Distracted as he was, he almost walked right into danger. It hadn't really registered in his mind that he was nearing the hotel where he'd been staying with his partner for the mission for the last two days. He was familiar with this part of the town and had let his legs take over while his mind rambled on about inconsequential things. The problem with that method was, of course, that his legs didn't understand the concept of danger. Luckily, his mind went back online when he heard someone's shoe scrape against stone just behind the corner. Normally the sound would've been far too quiet for him to hear but Venice was a quiet town at night and he, himself, made close to no sound while walking apart from the unpleasant squelching sound his wet sneakers made.

He froze and then he was pressed against a shadowed wall before he even realized what he was doing. He was forced to admit that sometimes his legs seemed a bit smarter than the brain. He inched towards the corner and made sure that he wouldn't be seen if he peeked around it.

There were two men standing in the shadows. He could see the firefly glow of a cigarette and saw the smoke curling almost lazily up into the air. They were speaking but doing so in Italian and far too quietly for him to make out the words anyway. How inconsiderate of them, he thought as he pulled back and wondered what he should do now.

He needed to take a shower and clean his cuts and contact MI6 so that he could get out of here. He needed to get out of his wet clothes and to sleep a whole month. Hell, he needed food, too, while he was at it. But he wasn't nearly stupid enough to think that the men weren't waiting for him to stumble in blindly. He had suspected they might know where he'd been staying at but he'd kind of hoped that they wouldn't. Well, that hope had now been officially crushed.

Alex had no money and his passport (fake, of course) was in the room as well. If he waited until morning the men might go away but he didn't exactly want to run into anyone looking like he did. He'd been hoping he'd slip past the receptionist so that he or she wouldn't question his less than presentable outfit. The hysteric giggle threatened to bubble out again and he stamped it down. He'd have time to panic later. Now he needed his brain to function at a hundred percent and he needed to figure out what to do before it was too late.

What did he know about Venice? He knew where home of an ex-board member of Scorpia had lived but that was hardly useful. He knew no one who lived anywhere near where he was but he might just be able to make it to where Tom's brother lived. But he couldn't be certain Jerry even lived there anymore and it would be far too dangerous to go there and get him involved (again) just like that. Was there a British embassy in Venice? He tried to remember if there was but couldn't and, anyway, it'd probably be on the mainland. It'd really be a stroke of luck if he'd manage to make it that far without collapsing.

So… He was running out of options pretty fast. He sighed silently. Just another day in the exciting life of Alex Rider, he thought slightly bitterly.

He needed to think and not get distracted every few seconds. What did he still have with him that could help? He had the smoke bomb earring and… and that was about it. He'd had a watch that had a built in tracer for MI6 but that was gone now and the best he could hope for was that it was still transmitting somewhere inside the 'bad guys' hideout. He'd had a special mobile, courtesy of Smithers, but that was gone, too. There'd been another earring but that had been used up when he'd escaped.

Things really weren't looking up for him, were they, he thought glumly. He needed to create a distraction to get the men away from the hotel so that he could slip in an at least grab some of the things he desperately needed. His wallet, the passport, a set of dry clothes… Those were the only things he needed. Even the wallet wasn't really necessary since he knew how to pick pockets well enough but he'd rather not. Back when he'd first learned how to do it it'd been a game but he knew better now.

He peeked around the corner again, wincing as his muscles protested against any movement. He'd been still for too long and it felt like the cold had sank deep into his muscles and bones. He'd need a bath in boiling water to make himself feel better after this.

The men were still there though the one who'd been smoking had stubbed the cigarette at some point. They were both huddled inside their coats and Alex felt a searing jolt of jealousy towards them. The bastards… he thought seething. He wished he still had those tranquilizer darts Smithers had given him before but they'd all been used up. Sometimes he wondered how, exactly, did the man always manage to give him everything he needed but when he'd asked Smithers had just laughed and said: "Perhaps it's just you who know how to use everything I give you."

But, anyway, he was all out of gadgets so he'd have to make do with whatever he could find. He looked at the street where the hotel was and tried to think. The hotel was accessible by a bridge that led over the narrow canal. The main door was open 24/7 so he'd be able to go in quickly once the men were gone. From what he'd seen before the receptionist tended to be in the back room during the night and although there was a camera covering the lobby he should be able to go to the stairs before anyone noticed him. He didn't have the room key since his partner had left it at the reception when they left the hotel last time, but the hotel was old and the locks simple enough that he could pick it rather than risk trying to get the key. He'd get the things he needed quickly enough and then go out through the window.

Their room was on the top floor and there was a window that led conveniently to the roof. The streets and canals near the hotel were narrow enough that he should be able to jump from roof to roof and then climb down somewhere further away from the hotel. It was dangerous and probably more than slightly stupid but it was a plan and he'd stick to it and see where it got him.

But first he'd need that distraction.

xxx

The two men were bored. They'd been sent to watch the hotel the kid and his guardian had been staying at but neither of them really thought that he'd be able to make it back. They'd gotten a call some forty minutes ago saying that the ones who'd been chasing the kid had lost him somewhere in the Cannaregio district. The kid wasn't local and he'd been shot up with god knows what when he'd been their 'guest' so there was no way he'd be able to make it back here. But, orders were orders and they both were far down the ladder enough to know when it was easier to just follow them.

And if following orders led to them standing in the cold and waiting for no one then that was what they were going to do.

"Do you think he's going to turn up?" the younger of the two asked leaning against a wall decorated with graffiti.

"No," the older said considering whether he should light up another cigarette or not. "You saw the condition the kid was in. He'd never be able to make it back here."

"Yeah," the younger man agreed with a hint of doubt in his voice. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am," the other man said putting a cigarette between his lips and digging his pockets for the lighter. "He'd just a kid, after all."

But the other man wasn't so sure about that. He hadn't had much to do with the kid but there'd been something distinctly unnerving about him. He knew the others thought that he'd just been acting as the real agent's cover but, for some reason, he couldn't help but think that maybe it was the other way around. He wasn't really sure what the others had done to the kid when he'd been held captive but the last time he'd seen him there'd been some pretty nasty bruises on him and he'd been drugged.

He couldn't help but wonder, though, why had no one else thought it weird that the kid hadn't called for help or cried or done any of that normal stuff? It was pretty creepy and he'd be glad when they'd get rid of him for good. As it was, being out in the open like this hunting for the kid put their organization at a pretty big risk. There were rumours that this was Scorpia's home ground and he'd bet they wouldn't be happy with the territory breach. The organization might not be as strong as before, or so he'd heard, but they'd probably have no trouble taking out their group.

"Why's he so important anyway?" he asked trying to quell the rising worry.

The other man shrugged. "I don't know," he muttered. "But the higher ups don't want to take the risk that the spy told the kid something."

'_Or the kid told the spy something_,' the other man thought but kept his musings private. Maybe he was just being stupid about it. After all, there was no way anyone would use a probably hormonal and irrational sixteen-year-old kid as spy, was there? No.

He was pretty sure there was no government that was desperate and unethical enough to try something like that in Europe.

xxx

Alex went through his plan again though he knew there wasn't a lot to go over. He was running out of time and energy and probably everything else so he'd have this one chance and if it failed he'd be captured. He doubted he'd be able to run away again if he was caught. They'd already underestimated him once and while they weren't the brightest people he'd gone up against, even they weren't stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.

He took a deep breath and then another one. He glanced at his surroundings, committing them to memory the best he could. It was stupidly risky but it was the best he could come up with. His brain was already operating on reserve energy he didn't really have so it'd have to do, for now.

One last deep breath and he walked around the corner.

He saw the men look up and then turn towards him and he froze where he was, playing surprised. He was standing under a street light so there was no doubt the men would see and recognize him.

"It's the kid!" the man who'd been smoking shouted and threw the half finished cigarette to the ground.

That seemed to be all it took and Alex spun around and took off running. As he was running he took off the last earring and threw it on the ground just as the men rounded the corner.

Alex hadn't really known what to expect but Smithers rarely disappointed. He had no idea how the man had managed to make that much smoke come from such a small container but right then he could've kissed him for it. The men had no choice but to run straight into the cloud and he could hear them start coughing and wheezing. Briefly Alex wondered if the other man would smoke again after this.

There wasn't much wind that night and the narrowness of the space would make it so that it'd take even longer for the smoke to clear. The men ran straight through the cloud and were forced to stop for a moment to take in deep breaths of air.

"That little," the older man wheezed looking pretty upset at the stunt Alex had pulled. "I'm going to wring his neck when we catch him. Which way did he run?"

The younger man had caught his breath better and had gone to the place where the road split in two. "I can't see him but both the roads turn. He could've gone either way."

The other man cursed colourfully. "You take the left and I'll take the right. I don't know how he got here but you saw what he looked like. He won't be able to run far."

"Right," the younger man said and they both set off in opposite directions.

A few seconds later Alex stepped out of the niche he'd been hiding in, and walked out of the smoke feeling like his lungs were burning. He'd been forced to hold his breath and he'd almost run out of air. He couldn't believe the simple ploy had worked but he wasn't stupid enough to think it'd buy him much time.

He walked quickly to the small bridge that led to the hotel and walked inside. The lobby was brightly lit and as he looked over the counter he spied the receptionist napping in one of the chairs. Feeling like he'd been due some good luck he went around the counter and grabbed the room key for his room. He'd leave it in the room when he left. He wished his clothes weren't clammy and wet so that he could warm up a bit before he'd have to go outside again.

He chose to take the stairs instead of the elevator since it wouldn't reach his floor anyway and could potentially reveal where he was. His legs were about to declare a strike on him when he finally reached the highest floor. He paused for a precious few seconds to get his breathing back to normal and then walked down the short hallway to the last door. There were only three rooms on the top floor and he knew that one of them was empty at the moment.

He opened the door to his room and went inside. It looked like no one had been inside after he and his partner had left, which was a relief. He quickly walked to his suitcase and pulled out some dry clothes, wishing he'd have the time for a hot shower. He hadn't bothered to turn on the lights because that would just draw attention to the fact that he was back. He undressed and redressed quickly and pocketed his passport along with the ticket for the return flight. He picked up his wallet as well and wondered if he should take a back bag with him or not and then abandoned the idea. He didn't really need to take anything that didn't fit into his pockets.

Risking a brief trip to the bathroom, he grimaced when he saw himself in the mirror. He had a split lip and a rather impressive bruise on his left cheek. The cut on his head that had blinded him and sent him swimming had finally clogged and he knew it'd be a pain to wash the blood from his hair. He looked like he'd been in a fight and he doubted he'd be let through the security checks at the airport looking like this. He splashed some water on his face and did his best to get rid of the blood but only managed to reopen the wound in the process. Sighing he decided that he should probably find a phone and call his employers and let them sort out the rest of his problems. They had to be good for _something_.

Deciding that he'd spent too long in the room already he dried his face and sighed. He was supposed to be on a holiday. When was the last time he'd actually spent a whole vacation relaxing? The times he'd ended up saving the world somehow didn't really count no matter how relaxed he'd been to start with. Realizing he was derailing himself again he walked out of the bathroom. The light had ruined his night vision momentarily and the main room was full of shadows and unrecognizable shapes.

He couldn't even remember the time when he'd found monsters in every shadow but his eyes scanned over the shapes anyway because paranoia had kept him alive this long. Finding everything as it should be he checked his pockets again for the passport and his wallet before making his way to the window.

It wasn't big enough for a grown man to crawl through it but, luckily, Alex wasn't yet a grown man though it was only a matter of time before he was. Still, as he was now, he should be able to crawl through without problems. The roof beyond the window wasn't steep so apart from slipping on the tiles he should be able to walk on it just fine.

He tensed his muscles, ready to hoist himself onto the edge of the window when someone suddenly grabbed him from behind. While his poor abused brain was still screaming that it hadn't noticed anyone in the room and how was this possible, his body decided to act on its own. He lashed out desperately but his flailing arm was caught easily in a crushing grip. He yelped in pain and tried to fight off his attacker but he was pressed against the wall and his arms were rendered immobile in a move that felt far too refined for the kind of thugs he'd been dealing with before. In fact, it brought up bad memories of the time he'd spent near Venice training with….

He froze up when the thought finally sunk in with ice cold clarity. Why hadn't he realized it before? Of course he _had_ realized it but he'd been hoping that he'd somehow manage to avoid it.

Bloody Scorpia…

"Ow ow _ow_," he said. "That really _really_ hurts, you know."

When in doubt (or captured by Scorpia as it were) try to talk your way out. He'd found out that the kind of people who were high up on Scorpia's food chain liked to talk and liked their supposedly doomed enemies to listen. Of course, there were exceptions like Yassen and Nile, too, come to think of it, but he could always hope. The bad thing was… if he was dealing with an assassin then there was little chance he'd be able to talk his way out of this. His father's connections couldn't always save him, after all.

"It wouldn't hurt so much if you hadn't tried to attack me."

The voice was cool and calm and, more importantly, _recognizable_. Alex blinked stupidly and wondered just how badly scrambled his brain was. It had to be pretty bad for him to start hearing dead men talk. But, considering his current situation, he might as well play along. Maybe it was the drugs or maybe it was the sheer weight of exhaustion and adrenaline but he was feeling quite cheery all of a sudden.

Really… Here he was, stuck in a foreign country all alone with his partner murdered in cold blood before his eyes, chased by the same people who'd killed his partner, beaten, bruised, bleeding and exhausted to the bone with odd chemicals still circulating in his bloodstream…. And now pinned against a hotel room wall by a man he'd seen die some two years ago. How could it _not_ be funny?

"Hi, Yassen," he said. "What are you doing here?"

He couldn't see the man in the dark with his face pressed uncomfortably against the wall but he could practically hear him roll his eyes. Though, probably, Yassen Gregorovich, the Scorpia assassin, didn't do such things but Alex had fun imagining that anyway.

"You have been careless," Yassen said.

Of course he wouldn't get an answer, Alex thought. The grip the man had on him hadn't loosened either and he was slowly losing circulation in his arms. There were a lot of questions crowding around in his head like whether Yassen still worked for Scorpia, how he'd managed to stay alive after the disaster that was Eagle Strike and whether or not the assassin felt like he'd finally paid his debt to John Rider and decided that it was okay to kill his son…

He might bitch and moan about the state of his life but he'd rather keep on living. Jack worried enough as it was and he didn't want her feeling like his death was somehow her fault for not being able to prevent him from getting mixed up in this.

But the fact was… All the times he'd encountered the assassin, he'd only gotten out alive because Yassen had allowed it. He was uncomfortably aware that he was very much in danger at the moment, even more so than he'd been before. Insanely rich madmen liked to gloat before going in for the kill (usually in the most ridiculously extravagant way possible). Yassen wouldn't bother with something like that. Alex was all too aware that at sixteen, he was uncomfortably close to being an adult.

"Not on purpose," he said.

Silence.

"So… What's going to happen now?" he asked feeling his mood slowly return to normal.

"You will not do anything stupid if I let you go," the assassin said.

It wasn't really a suggestion and even if it had been Alex wasn't stupid enough to not do what the man told him to do. It wasn't as if he trusted the man, though he did to an extent, but more because he knew it'd be good for his health. Not being dead was bound to be good for his health, after all.

"Yeah," he said anyway even though his input wasn't really required.

The pressure against him eased and then disappeared as Yassen stepped away from him. He touched his previously captured wrist gingerly and though he couldn't see it in the darkness he knew that it was already bruising. It was always nice to try to explain away the hand shaped bruises or the scars left from being handcuffed far too many times to normal people.

"Follow me."

He wanted to ask where but knew it'd be no use. Yassen wouldn't tell him and even if he knew it wouldn't do him any good. He was still stuck alone in a foreign country with a dead partner and a head full of information that he needed to get to his employers.

Much to his surprise they didn't go far. In fact, they only went out of the room and then down the hallway and into the room that he knew had been empty before. Had they been unknowingly staying right next to the assassin or had he rented the room that night or what? He was confused and he didn't really know what he should be thinking about the situation.

When the door closed behind him with a rather ominous click he turned to face the dead man who seemed to have no trouble walking around and looking remarkably alive. It was a bit annoying considering how guilty he'd felt that Yassen had died because he'd refused to kill Alex and Sabina.

"I was kind of under the impression that you weren't around anymore," he said when it became obvious Yassen wouldn't talk.

"I'm not," the assassin said his face as cool as ever. "It was mere chance that I was here."

Alex tilted his head to the side. "What I actually mean is that I thought you were dead," he said rather bluntly. "You looked dead and when I asked…"

He'd revealed too much, he knew, even if Yassen's expression hadn't changed. It was frustrating, really, how hard to read the man was. Alex was usually fairly good at reading people but trying to read Yassen was like trying to get a reaction out of a corpse.

"I am sure MI6 would prefer you think I died," the assassin said and that was revealing, too.

It meant that MI6 knew Yassen was alive and that they had purposefully lied to Alex. Not that that was anything new, really, but it was never fun to find out he'd been lied to. It shouldn't have surprised him that they'd keep something like this a secret either. His relationship with the assassin was… complicated… at best and even Alex didn't fully understand how it worked. Of course Blunt and Jones would want that tie cut off even if it meant lying. It was never a good thing for an agent to believe he owed his life several times over to an enemy agent.

But he did, he realized even as he thought about it, which also meant that he'd be obliged to tell him the truth about the whole mess with Scorpia and John and everything. It wasn't something he was looking forward to doing but he knew he would do it anyway. Sometimes it was damn hard to be the good guy.

"So what's going to happen now?" he repeated his earlier question because he hadn't really gotten an answer.

"We wait."

It wasn't much of an answer but it was clear it was all he was going to get at the moment. Feeling a bit sulky he slid down onto the floor with his back against the wall and waited. The assassin gave him a long look before turning and taking a laptop out of his bag and concentrating on that. Apparently he'd decided Alex wasn't going to do anything stupid for now.

After maybe ten minutes of uncomfortable silence and growing boredom Alex suddenly turned his head towards the door as he heard a set of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. The people in the third room would still be asleep at this time of night so there was no question the steps belonged to his pursuers. He moved silently towards the door and pressed his ear against it in the hopes of catching a bit of conversation or something. He could feel the assassin's eyes on him but wasn't bothered by it at the moment.

"What'll we do if he did go to the room?"

Alex recognized the voice as one of the men who'd been waiting for him. It was the one who hadn't been smoking and who'd apparently been lower in the hierarchy. Thusly he dubbed him 'Minion'. He could hear the other man (now called 'Smoker') answer but couldn't make out the words. He'd been learning Italian but he wasn't very good at it yet. He had, however, learned an impressive amount of curse words. Mostly because he was curious about what his various enemies were always calling him.

The men didn't speak more and he heard them pass by the door he'd pressed his ear against and move towards the end of the hallway. He scrambled after them and went to the wall that he knew this room shared with the other one and pressed his ear against it. It was unlikely he'd be able to hear anything but it couldn't hurt to try.

He imagined Yassen was feeling rather amused with his behaviour but that was probably unlikely.

He heard the door open and then the thump as it hit the wall. Heavy feet made the floorboards creak a little and he could hear them going through the things in the room. There were thumps as his luggage was emptied and he knew they'd notice his passport missing and realize he'd been in there. He'd also left the dirty bloody towel in the bathroom as well as his soaked clothes.

He heard a muffled half-shout and even though he couldn't hear the words clearly he could recognize a curse when he heard one. He fought down the urge to snigger.

Apart from the uncertain and deadly danger the assassin presented, he was about as safe as he could be in the hotel room. He knew the group the men were a part of wasn't that powerful and wouldn't dare to cause a commotion in Venice. They might've gained access to Alex's hotel room but they wouldn't be allowed to search more rooms randomly because that would raise questions. Besides, he'd left the window open so it was likely they'd think he'd done precisely what he'd planned to do.

Too bad for them that he'd been practically kidnapped by an assassin and was listening in on them from the other side of the wall.

…It sounded pretty unbelievable even to him. But, then again, he could probably write the book on how to accomplish unbelievable and impossible things. It was a shame it would be filed straight under fiction.

He could hear the men walk to the window and then have another muffled conversation before running out of the room and down the stairs. The hotel would be watched, probably, but not very carefully. They probably didn't think he'd be coming back.

Well… that was one danger averted for the moment. He turned around and looked at Yassen who was still doing something with the laptop apparently paying no attention to him. Alex knew better than to take that as a chance to walk out of the room, however, not that he really had anywhere to go to. He still had the plane ticket but he didn't know if he'd make it to the airport in time. But he was feeling vaguely optimistic about his chances of survival. Yassen hadn't killed him yet and he was temporarily safe from the other bad guys. Now all he needed was that shower, a chance to lick his wounds and some three days worth of sleep.

As if reading his mind Yassen turned to look at him and gave him a thorough once over. When he was done there was a slight frown marring his usually unreadable face and Alex winced. So it was that bad, huh? Not that he hadn't already known it but still…

"Go clean up," the man said turning back to his computer.

Not feeling like protesting the rather sensible order Alex shuffled into the bathroom obediently.

xxx

There was a first aid kit on the counter and after his shower Alex spent a considerable time disinfecting and binding the small cuts he'd managed to acquire this time. Thankfully, the worst wound was the one on his forehead that had started bleeding again. He was going to need stitches for that, he thought as he looked at it in the mirror. Or maybe it'd heal if he just let it be for a while. It wasn't bleeding much, really, and he'd rather not get sewn up again. And then there was the matter of his finger which was a kind of interesting purple colour and throbbed painfully. It was definitely broken and he'd need to do something about it but it was difficult. He was pretty sure that if he tried to set it himself he'd black out from the pain.

Of course… He could always ask Yassen to do it for him but he'd be stupid if he wasn't at least a little apprehensive to ask help from the man. But he was fairly sure he was going to get killed anytime soon so he might as well go bother the assassin.

He exited the bathroom not surprised to find Yassen exactly where he'd left him.

"Hey," he said feeling awkward. "Can you help me?"

Without word the man put the laptop top down and turned to him. Taking that as a 'yes', Alex walked closer to him and offered him the hand with the broken finger. He hadn't taken any painkillers because deep down he was a paranoid bastard but he was kind of wishing he had. It was going to hurt.

"It will hurt," Yassen said echoing his thoughts.

Alex smiled wryly. "I've had worse."

The assassin didn't ask and he didn't need to. After all, he'd once left Alex to fight a bull. Alex had wondered about that a few times after Eagle Strike. Yassen had said he'd never be able to kill Alex so either he'd lied when he was dying, or he'd had absolute faith that Alex would survive the ordeal with the bull. Or maybe he'd thought that if Alex wasn't directly killed by him but via something else (like a bull) then it didn't count as him killing Alex. Alex found himself preferring the second option the most.

Even distracted as he was brain increasingly fuzzy and rambly with tiredness he certainly felt the pain as the man poked at his finger.

"It's just a fracture," he said. "I'll set it and bind it."

Alex nodded and grit his teeth.

"Sit on the bed."

He followed the order and sat down on one of the beds. It was weird to be touched by a man so distinctly untouchable as Yassen and it sent goose bumps up his arms. It didn't help that the only other time he remembered touching the man was aboard the Air Force One when he'd thought he was dying. The touch was surprisingly warm and gentle from such a cold and hard man but Alex wasn't complaining.

"Ow! That really really hurts!"

Okay, so maybe he was complaining a little, but only because it _did_ hurt. Somehow, it seemed unfair that the worst wound he'd gotten hadn't hurt at all until it'd been stitched up and he wasn't in immediate danger. Of course, he'd take a broken finger or two any day over being shot again. That was definitely an experience he'd rather not have again.

Yassen didn't even need to look at him to convey his exasperation but Alex didn't much care if the man thought he was childish. He could keep from showing too much of his discomfort when he was in enemy hands but he didn't see the point when he was saf-

His thoughts stopped like they'd just hit a brick wall at terminal velocity.

"You should bite down on something," the assassin said.

Still dazed by the sudden realization Alex's body obeyed the suggestion automatically and stuffed the thick sleeve of his hoody into his mouth. It turned out to be a good idea when the assassin did something that hurt like hell to his finger. It wasn't the most painful thing he'd felt but it was still pretty painful. And Alex really wished he wasn't in a position where he could give grades to pain.

He must've blacked out for a few seconds because the next time he opened his eyes Yassen was carefully splinting the finger. It'd be a pain for a few weeks, Alex lamented, feeling overwhelmed with everything that had happened in the last 24 hours.

"Sleep," the man said when he'd finished with the first aid.

His automatic reaction would be to question his safety if he went to sleep now with Yassen present in the room but he wasn't stupid enough to actually say it out loud. If Yassen had wanted him dead, he'd be dead.

So, without further words, he peeled the covers off the bed and crawled in shutting his eyes. He could hear the sound of the laptop's fans and the quiet sound of the keyboard before his brain finally shut down and he fell asleep.

xxx

Consciousness came reluctantly and slowly. When Alex blinked his eyes open his first instinct was to make sure he was safe and then determine exactly where he was. Memories of the previous night came quickly and he scanned the room looking for the assassin. In daylight he felt silly for daring to fall asleep with a killer in the room even if he'd said he had no desire to kill Alex.

Really… He'd need to get Yassen to answer his questions somehow so he'd know where he stood with the man. If he still worked for Scorpia there was obviously going to be a conflict of interests there. Did he intend to take Alex back to them? Had he heard what happened when Alex had gone to the organization as per his instructions?

But speaking of the assassin… Where was he? For a moment Alex thought he'd left but then he saw the laptop on top of a table and an empty coffee cup next to it. The bathroom door was slightly open and dark so that meant he wasn't there either. He moved to sit up slowly and wondered at how much better he felt. His finger was still throbbing painfully but it wasn't anything he couldn't ignore. His muscles were complaining at every move he made but that was nothing unusual either. There was a brown smear of blood on his pillow but there wasn't much of it which meant his head wound had finally scabbed up. He'd done his best to bind it last night but the gauze had loosened sometime during the night. He felt bad for the hotel staff but there was nothing he could do about it.

He stood up and was satisfied to feel steady enough. He shuffled into the bathroom and wished he'd thought to grab his toothbrush from his room as well. When he walked out of the room Yassen was back.

"So would you mind telling me what you're going to do with me now?" he asked.

An expression that Alex couldn't quite read crossed the man's face before it settled into a slight frown.

"I… wanted to ask you some questions," he said but there was just a hint of hesitation to his voice.

It was as if he was just as unsure where he stood with Alex, as Alex was of his position with Yassen. It was almost funny. For the first time he wondered, if maybe Yassen had expected to die in that plane and was about as surprised as Alex was that he'd survived it.

"Surprisingly enough I want to ask some questions too," he said falling back on sarcasm because it was something familiar in a completely bizarre situation. "Like are you still working for Scorpia? Because if you are, I should probably leave really soon. They're not very fond of me at the moment."

The frown on Yassen's face deepened. "What happened?" he asked. "I know you went to them like I said but for some reasons there isn't a lot of information about what happened after that. I know Rothman died and knowing you, you probably had something to do about it."

"Does that mean you're not with Scorpia?" Alex asked not willing to let the subject go.

The assassin shook his head and Alex wondered how he should take that.

"They don't tolerate failure," Yassen said the ghost of a wry smile crossing his lips. "They know I am alive but they pretend they don't know because as long as I am not a threat to them they are willing to ignore me."

It was almost an uncharacteristically open answer and Alex hadn't expected it. It threw him off for a moment before he gathered his wits again.

"Kind of like they pretend I don't exist at the moment," he murmured to himself.

Whatever deal they'd made with MI6 prevented them from trying to kill him but that didn't mean they'd completely forgotten him either. Not when he'd been the one to basically kill their board members and cause them serious revenue loss and deliver a crippling blow to their reputation. It was hard to be taken seriously in the criminal world when one lone teenager had managed to cause so much damage to them, after all.

"Yes," Yassen said drawing him out of his thoughts. "And how, exactly, did that happen?"

And to answer that question Alex would have to explain about John Rider and his true loyalties. And wasn't that going to be _fun_? The whole reason Yassen had been so intent on keeping him alive was because of the memory of his father and if he twisted that…

And damn if he wouldn't do it anyway.

"It's a bit of a long story," he said sitting down.

"We have time," the assassin said levelly.

Of course they had. Alex sighed.

"So it goes like this…"

xxx

There was something unsettling about the calmness with which Yassen listened to the story. His face wasn't completely impassive but the little flickers of emotion that crossed it were gone too fast for Alex to really read them so he wasn't really trying. He sat on the bed with his legs tucked against his chest and his arms wound around them.

"So…" he said when he finally reached the end. "That's about it." The silence continued. "Sorry," he added though he wasn't sure why.

The assassin's face was impassive and it wouldn't surprise Alex if he decided to whip out a gun or something. It must've been a shock to hear that the man he'd respected and loved had been working for the enemy all along. Alex almost knew what it felt like since for a while he'd thought the same. Except, Yassen had a closer connection to John Rider than he did. He hadn't even known the man. Hell, he hadn't even known _Ian_ and the man had raised him. He was so glad he had Jack.

"That…" Yassen said slowly. "That doesn't surprise me."

Alex blinked. Okay? Not quite the reaction he'd been expecting but he'd take that over being shot.

"He was the best Scorpia ever had," Yassen continued. "It would be no surprise he'd be even better than that."

Only in the other direction, Alex thought.

"And you are so much like him," the assassin continued.

Alex rolled his eyes but wasn't sure if Yassen caught the movement. He'd been told that so many times. Everyone who knew John Rider always made sure to remark on that. He didn't mind it too much. His father had been a good man and he was proud that people thought he shared the same qualities but… Was he going to live the rest of his life in the shadow of a dead man?

"I've heard that before," Alex said. "But it was Ian and Jack who made me into _who_ I am."

And that was true, too. In Alex's mind it was nurture, not nature that mattered the most. There was only so much that could be transferred on in genes. He was a spy because Ian had made sure he'd learned how to be one. He couldn't leave people in danger if he could save them because Jack had taught him to stand up for those who were weaker than him, though he suspected she hadn't exactly been thinking he'd end up saving thousands of lives because of it.

"Ian Rider," Yassen said. "You once said you'd kill me for killing him."

A simple statement. It was so easy to forget that the calm and collected man had killed the only living relative Alex had left and therefore delivered him to the gentle hands of MI6. He could still feel the simmering anger and hatred at the man for that but… It'd been two years and he'd gotten far too used to loss. He understood how the world he'd been reluctantly dragged into worked now. He didn't _like_ it, but he understood it.

He might not be able to ever forgive Yassen for taking Ian away from him but he also knew that he wasn't a killer. He had killed, yes, but only to protect himself and others. He wanted to think there was a difference. _Needed_ to think there was a difference. Alex wasn't a killer and definitely not a murderer.

"Not gonna lie," he said. "I can't forgive you for that even if he knew the risks and you were just doing your job. But…" He took a deep breath. "You saved Sabina and I when you didn't have to. Or at least didn't kill us when it would've saved your life. We're not even because I can't honestly think how one life can be measured against another but… I can't kill you. I won't kill you."

And there was a difference between 'can't' and 'won't'. He couldn't kill someone in cold blood, he knew that already but even if he could, he _wouldn't_ do it. That was another reason why he would've never have made it in Scorpia. That was the reason why he'd never measure up to his father.

"I was wrong," Yassen said and this time the smile was there a fraction longer. "You are not as much like your father as I thought."

Knowing just how much the man had admired his father it should've been an insult, but for some inexplicable reason it sounded a lot more like a compliment. Alex decided that it would probably save him a lot of trouble if he just stopped trying to decipher the moods of a impossible-to-read contract killer.

"Yeah, well, that's nice, I suppose," he said. "Now that we've cleared some things I still have no idea what you were planning to do with me. And if you're not with Scorpia, what were you doing here?"

"I had business here," the man answered. "And then I saw you."

That… didn't really answer his questions but Alex could fill in some of the blanks. Yassen had probably not intended for them to cross paths but apparently he was still opposed to seeing Alex get himself killed.

"Oh," Alex said. "Thanks, I suppose, though, I did have a plan."

He might've been a child still but he wasn't helpless.

"A plan that might've worked if you'd been in good condition," the assassin corrected him. "You were ready to crash so my plan was better."

Damned logic. Oh well, as long as he was alive to curse it at the end of the day he didn't really care.

"Sometimes I wish my life were normal," he muttered.

Or most of the time, really. But that was hardly a possibility anymore. Besides, did he know how to be a normal kid anymore?

"We should go," Yassen said. "I will take you to the airport."

"What?" Alex asked feeling like he'd missed a turn in the conversation somewhere.

Yassen gave him an even look. "You're not safe here. I don't know what your… employers… though when they sent you here but it was dangerous. I booked you a flight that leaves today."

For a man so practised at concealing his emotions he managed to put quite a bit of pure loathing in a single word, Alex thought feeling rather amused at that.

"This might be a stupid question but… Why are you helping me?" he asked. "Even after I told you that my father wasn't what you thought he was."

There was no answer and Yassen continued packing his things. Not that there were many and Alex suspected he'd only rented the room after checking where Alex stayed at. It was a bit creepy, now that he thought about it, but it had helped him out so he shouldn't really complain.

He'd take Yassen's help if he was willing to offer it. And, he had to admit, somewhere deep down he thought that his help was, perhaps, just a bit more reliable than Blunt's. While both of them seemed to have an interest in keeping him alive only Yassen did it because he felt like it and not because he had some further use for Alex.

"How are we getting there?" Alex asked.

It wasn't like he had anything to pack and it was awkward to just sit there in silence.

"Boat," was the short answer he got for his trouble.

Realizing that Yassen had probably used up his word quota for the moment Alex settled back down. It wasn't a long wait because the assassin travelled light. Besides, it wasn't as if he was coming _with_ Alex on the plane. That would be awkward. MI6 probably knew that the assassin was alive but Alex didn't want them knowing _Alex_knew that. They weren't the only ones who could have secrets, after all.

"Come on."

He sighed and followed the man out of the room.

xxx

It was hard to believe that only three hours later he was sitting in a plane heading towards London. He'd gotten a few looks at the airport because he looked like he'd been on the losing side in a fight but no one had tried to stop him. His passport marked him just over eighteen-years-old and the check in people didn't question it even though he knew he looked younger than that. He briefly wondered if it was possible for MI6 to flag his passport the same way he knew they did for supposed terrorists. Only, obviously, the other way around.

'_Hey_,' he'd said when he'd been ready to go through the security check. He was kind of surprised that the assassin was risking the airport security and the cameras and had stuck with him for as long as he had. '_How likely is it for me to see you again?_'

Yassen had given him a long unreadable look.

'_I'd like to say it's unlikely but…'_ Alex was sure he'd seen a small smile cross his lips. _'Knowing you, we'll run into each other before the end of the month.'_

Yes, he decided. There had definitely been humour behind those cold blue eyes. Yassen had never told him what he did these days, only that he didn't work for Scorpia. For all he knew the man could be working for some other criminal organization or something… Oh well, as long as he wasn't out to kill Alex, he didn't really need to know, did he?

He closed his eyes and tried to find a comfortable position in the soft but still somehow uncomfortable seat. He still had a few days of vacation time left before school started again. He was already drifting off to a sort of half-daze that was the best he could do in an airplane when the thought crossed his mind that he should probably inform Blunt about his run-in with the assassin. Of course, _should_ wasn't the same as _would_. They'd lied to him, after all, so he'd be completely within his rights to just withhold one tiny fact.

xxx

At the Marco Polo airport the infamous contract killer Yassen Gregorovic watched the departures board until the flight to London showed that it'd left. He was feeling rather puzzled with himself and suspected that the boy had realized it. He'd always been a bit too sharp for his own good.

It was true that he'd been in the city on other business but it was _also_ true that he'd dropped that as soon as he'd heard that the troublesome boy was in town. He knew Alex too well to think that he'd be there on vacation and knew his reputation and past feats well enough to know that, sooner or later, he'd end up in trouble.

And he had.

Truthfully, there had no need for him to intervene. The boy had had a plan and although it had been simple it probably would've worked unless Alex had run out of reserve energy. But he'd done it anyway because he could. There was no use questioning himself over his motives. One of the things that made someone a good assassin was to always be absolutely sure of what you were thinking and to never lie to yourself. He'd ignored that on his last Scorpia mission and it had ended up almost killing him.

And that was why he'd saved the boy. Because he'd wanted to. He almost wished he could say it was because of the memory of John Rider but that wasn't all there was to it anymore. The boy had been right when he'd said that apart from genetics, he had more in common with Ian than John. It was true that the similarities between father and son were remarkable, but that was because most people who'd met John Rider were deliberately looking for them. He wondered what Alex, himself, thought about it.

Still, he didn't really regret helping the boy. He hadn't regretted it even when he'd thought he'd die. Back then his only regret was not killing Gray before.

He was still thinking of the random encounter when he boarded the plane heading to St. Petersburg and wondered if he was really right in that they'd be seeing each other again and whether that would be a good or a bad thing. He was slightly puzzled with himself for not only finding the idea agreeable but rather pleasant as well. It was probably stupid and dangerous of him to think that way but he was retired so he was allowed to have some not work-related fun these days.

Even if said fun came in the form of a sixteen-year-old schoolboy-slash-spy who just happened to be his former mentor's son...

... just what was he getting himself into?

**End A/N:** Surprisingly... This was actually supposed to be slashier but I fail at that (again). I like the Yassen/Alex pairing despite the astronomical age gap. But when I try to write it my brain seems to derail and refuse to do what I want it to do.

It feels like there's going to be a part two like in Whirlwind but I haven't even started on it so it might take ages depending on random bouts of inspiration.


End file.
